


Old Books and Sweet Dreams

by sweetfayetanner



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Book Nerds In Love, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-10-20 10:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetfayetanner/pseuds/sweetfayetanner
Summary: Falling asleep in the library becomes something of a habit.A series of interconnected one shots about Belle, Adam, and their relationship to each other and the castle library.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Who doesn't love that library?? I love these book nerds and their love for each other. This is part character study, part fluffy romance. Hope you enjoy reading!

There was a bedroom in the West Wing larger than her cottage back in Villeneuve, but tonight Belle couldn’t find the will to sleep in it. She would be greeted with cold bed linens and silence, a bed far too big and empty to offer her a restful night. Adam, away on business, was due to return sometime tomorrow.

Unaccustomed to spending lengthy periods of time apart from him, Belle wandered the castle, shoving aside the notion of sleep for as long as she could. But now the sky had darkened, filling the corners of the rooms and corridors where candlelight didn’t reach with hues of indigo. Her head felt heavy, her eyes beginning to burn the longer she paced around vacant hallways and fought against the alluring call of a quiet slumber.

Belle huffed, wisps of hair that had come loose from her braid dancing in front of her weary eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest to try and ward off some of the chill seeping in from drafty windows. Her footsteps echoed, a lonely, hollow sound that ricocheted off the stone walls. All of the servants and staff had long since retired to their rooms. The gilded hands of a nearby clock hovered close to two in the morning. She needed sleep, and relatively soon, otherwise she’d be useless company to her beloved husband upon his return.

There was only one place in the whole of the castle that could possibly offer her some semblance of comfort.

Belle pushed open the doors to the castle library— _her_ library; _her very own to keep forevermore_ , she could hardly believe it, still—and let out the anxious tension that had settled into her bones.

As long as she lived, she could never tire of the sight, of stepping through those doors only to be surrounded by towering shelves and endless tomes. Some of the spines winked at her, their titles etched in gold that caught the dim light from a low burning fire in the hearth. She crossed the room, passed long wooden tables where lopsided piles of books sat waiting to be organized. It had become an arduous process, but Belle liked a challenge, and most of all, she liked an excuse to spend more time here. Adam admired her resolve, but had joked that the task of reorganizing the expansive library would last the entirety of their marriage.

Belle didn’t seem to mind.

Crouching in front of the hearth, Belle added more wood to the fire, satisfied when the flames rose and the logs crackled. The sudden burst of warmth was welcome, too; she often forgot how cold the castle could become in the midst of a summer night.

She sighed, lowering into a chair in front of the fire. Her vision went unfocused for a few long moments, the burning behind her eyes growing in its intensity, begging her to sleep. Belle slipped off her riding boots and tucked her stockings into them. She stifled a yawn into her palm, then got to her feet, weaving between the tables and armchairs, her bare toes chilled against the floor. Belle inhaled the smell of old books while she walked, the familiar scent a comfort in the silence.

She found her way to the cushioned chaise where some of her charcoal drawings lay scattered. Among them were plans to implement her laundry system to the castle grounds permanently, a sketch of Chip giving her a toothy grin, and a lazy, absentminded drawing of a rose. She pushed them delicately off the cushions, watching them flutter to the ground before she flopped, without an ounce of grace, onto the chaise. The fabric, velvety and dark blue, was soft, but worn in places.

And it smelled of Adam, of the expensive soaps and perfumes that trailed in his wake. Even though the curse’s effects had softened his heart, his desire for fine things remained, just not at the expense of the people. Belle supposed their bed linens smelled the same, a mix of the floral scents she preferred, mingled with the spices and rich notes of his own perfume.

But here in the library, there was a closeness, a familiarity that she couldn’t quite explain in words. _Well_ , she decided, shifting onto her back to stare at the shelves that climbed toward the cavernous ceiling, _maybe there was just one_.

_Home._

Watching the light from the fire flicker against the shelves, Belle saw memories in this room, nestled in every corner. She was certain their lives had begun in this room. She had fallen in love here; real, and true, and so very deeply in love that she could practically feel it from her head straight down to her toes. A grin spread across her lips at the thought, remembering the flutter in her chest. Hours had been spent in the library, sometimes alone but mostly with Adam by her side, both mortal and beast.

She could hear his voice echo and rumble against her body, the two of them curled up on the chaise while he recited his favorite sonnets. The way his eyes caught the golden firelight, the feel of his breath on her skin. The press of his lips, feather light, as he left a kiss on her forehead while the words drifted around them.

It seemed foolish, for it was only a short time, but she missed Adam terribly. She wondered if he felt the same. Was his bed just as uncomfortable and sleep elusive? They had yet to spend a night apart since his transformation. Belle worried about him, alone in whatever room gave him temporary shelter. Would the nightmares creep in without her beside him to keep them away? For Adam’s sake, she wished for sleep to find him easily, beyond the reach of the terror that hovered on the edges of his dreams.

 _Let him sleep_ , she prayed quietly, her eyes roaming once more to the ceiling above her head. _Let his dreams be peaceful. Please._

It was then that Belle noticed something just on the edge of her vision. She reached up, behind her head, her fingers skirting the edge of fabric draped over the side of the chaise. With a careful tug, a wool banyan robe, several shades of blue lighter than the cushions underneath her, tumbled onto her chest.

_Adam._

She lifted the robe up to her face, breathing in soundly. Belle was grateful he had left it behind as his scent filled the gaping hole of his presence. Curling snugly into the chaise, Belle wrapped herself in Adam’s robe as if it were a quilt, pulling it up to her chin. The length of the fabric, given the height difference between herself and her husband, covered her from her chin to her bare toes, trapping in warmth.

Finally content for the first time that night, Belle let her eyes flutter closed, safe in the shelter of old books and the memory of the man who held her heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! Sorry this chapter took forever to post, but it kind of got away from me, so it's longer than the first one. Hope you like it!

The sight of fallen rose petals still made every muscle in Adam’s body tense. He still waited for the ancient castle to tremble around him, for dust and stone to plummet from the ceilings. He wondered how much longer his mind would cling to the old habit.

Sweeping his hand across the tabletop, he gathered up the scattered petals from a bouquet Belle had arranged out of roses from the garden. Their entire room was drenched in the fragrance; Adam had discovered that after so many years, he couldn’t be without it. Velvety soft, they settled into his palm, hues of cream and light pink and red tinged brown as they withered. He carried them to the open window, setting them free in the midst of a downpour. Adam watched them swirl and drift in a gust of wind, drowned in rain until they disappeared into the night.

These roses no longer tormented him. They made him think of Belle, to whom he owed this new life. She’d spent so much time tending to the overgrown rose garden, making it look presentable after years of neglect, that the scent lingered in her hair—along with a few stray leaves, on occasion. Her hands often smelled of roses, too. Adam let the fragrance overpower his senses whenever he brushed his lips across her knuckles and soothed angry cuts that the thorns had left behind on her lithe fingers.

He closed the window so the storm wouldn’t damage the roses. As the clock across the room struck midnight, he expected to turn and find Belle in the doorway. Another five minutes ticked lazily by, but still she did not show. Adam suppressed the panic that swelled within him, reminding himself that they were married now and she’d promised to stay with him for the rest of their lives. Belle had professed her love for him, and he in return, for the whole village to see.

 _Old habits_ , he groused. Some days he could hardly believe this wasn’t an elaborate dream concocted by long, tedious years spent in isolation. What was it about him that had made Belle come back? What had he done to deserve someone like her?

Like a stone at the mercy of the tide, she had softened his rough edges. But his transformation back into a mortal hadn’t meant that all of his… _ungentlemanly_ behaviors disappeared overnight. Belle had his temper to contend with, which still reared its ugly head every so often. She matched him in stubbornness, so they fought nearly as much as they made love. Neither of them could find it in their hearts to stay angry at each other for very long, once all was said and done. None of their disagreements were ever earth-shattering.

But still. Adam could hardly blame her, if she grew tired of him.

He tugged open one of the drawers of Belle’s dressing table, where he found the heavy gilded mirror that had once been gifted to him by the Enchantress. Adam hadn’t thought of it as a gift until he and Belle traded it back and forth whenever they were forced to spend time apart.

He unwrapped it from the cloth. “Show me Belle.”

His own reflection swam in the glass until it was replaced by Belle, whose face was hidden somewhere underneath her cascading hair. She seemed to be asleep, arms tucked under what he supposed was her cheek, draped over a tabletop in the library.

_The library. Of course._

He smirked at the image of his slumbering wife until the glass rippled and she disappeared. If their routines continued to progress as they were now, half their married life would be spent in that library, with no complaints from either of them.

Where else would she have possibly run off to?

“You ridiculous man,” he could almost hear her whisper in his ear, “why would I ever even _dream_ of leaving you?”

Adam laughed to himself as he stepped out of their shared rooms. He felt lighter now, less anxious, his doubts and fears abated. Belle, his conscience. Whenever he found himself on the brink of a foolish decision, whenever his mind came to torment him or his anger flared, it was always her voice he heard. Always. It had started sometime while he was still a beast, and Adam was happy to realize it had carried over into his new life.

He’d never told Belle that, but he figured she would be pleased to know it. Maybe even a little smug, with some sort of sharp reply at the ready. His clever wife. His beautiful soulmate.

Adam navigated the hallways, picking up a candle before he ventured into a darkened corridor. He stole a glance at his shadow projected by the flickering light in his hand. He wasn’t yet used to how slight he looked, how _human_.  

Voices drifted toward him, rising from the shadows of an alcove up ahead. The words bounced off the walls too much for him to decipher anything but tones. One of them was rich and masculine, the other sweet and punctuated by saccharine laughter. Adam couldn’t help the smirk that wandered onto his face, though he managed to stifle it before he approached the amorous pair.

Adam could hardly blame them—they were newly engaged, and heaven knows he and Belle couldn’t keep away from each other until their wedding. Lumière and Plumette had endured a lifetime of separation, so propriety be damned.

He tried to breeze past them. Truth be told, this wasn’t the first time he had walked in on them, nor were Plumette or Lumière strangers to finding him and Belle in compromising positions. So, in an effort to not startle them, he lightened his footsteps and held his breath as if it would make a difference.

It didn’t. Adam didn’t know why he thought it would.

“Your Grace!”

Lumière emerged from the shadows, dazed, and offered Adam a languid grin. His perfectly coifed wig lay on the floor between him and Plumette, who wrenched herself away as soon as she registered Adam standing before them.

“I…apologize for the interruption.” He stifled a grin by biting the inside of his cheek.

“It is no trouble at all, _monsieur_ _,”_ Lumière said, breathless. He patted down his disheveled waistcoat. Plumette busied herself with studying everything but Adam while discreetly righting her petticoats. “Was there something you needed?”

The smirk somehow found its way back onto his face. “My wife.”

Lumière looked flustered still, as Plumette bent to retrieve his wig. “She is the libr—”

“The library, yes. I was just on my way.” Adam gestured vaguely. “Again, my deepest apologies for…interrupting.”

“Do not worry yourself, _mon prince_ ,” Plumette said with a curtsy. “May you and _la princesse_ have a most pleasant evening. _Bonne nuit_.”

“And the same to you both,” Adam replied.

"Ah, _monsieur_ ,” Lumière said, once he’d regain most of his composure. “I feel I must warn you that the library is in quite a state of disarray.”

“Isn’t it always?”

Except for the books. The shelves were kept in good order and were currently undergoing an exhaustive cataloguing process.

“You’ll not hear an argument from me,” he conceded. “But I fear Cogsworth has developed a permanent twitch in his left eye while trying to keep up with _Madame_.”

“The poor man.” Adam laughed. “Hasn’t he learned by now? It’s better to let the dust settle first.”

Plumette giggled. “ _Oui, mon prince_.”

 _"_ Goodnight,” Adam said, finally taking his leave. Lumière and Plumette bowed to him, and as soon as he turned out of sight, Plumette’s melodic giggles echoed down the hallway, once again shrouded in darkness.

From what the mirror had shown him, the storm formally known as Belle had fallen asleep. He had to admit, though, that the warning made him curious. He never knew what he might find once Belle set charcoal to paper. Usually, he could tell even before he laid eyes on her whether or not it was safe to approach her whenever she was working. If she needed her space to think, he knew better than to get in her way.

The hinges on the heavy, wooden doors of the library squealed when Adam opened them. He winced, hoping the loud noise wouldn’t disturb Belle from sleep. He set his candle on the nearest table, as there was more than enough light for him to see by. A fire crackled low in the hearth, filling the rooms with a rich, earthy smell that mixed beautifully with the scent of yellowed, worn pages.

Lumière had been right about the mess. Crumpled pieces of parchment were strewn on the floor, the tables, and even up on the balconies of the mezzanine, as if they’d been thrown out of frustration. Which, knowing Belle, was likely. Opened books sprawled across the chaise and sat on chairs, pages marked. Furniture had been moved, arranged in ways that did not make an ounce of sense to Adam but probably harbored some method in their madness to his dear, ingenious wife.

In the far corner of the third room where the fire still burned, the beginnings of an elaborate pulley system had been constructed to reach the topmost shelves of the second floor. Belle had spoken about their efficiency one bright morning, all wide-eyed with her sentences running into each other, excited for the challenge. She explained that the task of carrying books up and down ladders was not only dangerous, but archaic and unnecessary. Belle was forever finding ways to make their lives easier.

Adam loved seeing how her mind worked.

The library— _her_ library—was her kingdom, the one place in the whole of the castle where she could escape from royal duties and just be… _Belle_. The country girl from Villeneuve who argued with him over classic literature and captured his heart.

She could do whatever she wished to the library, because Adam knew that, at the end of it all, she cared for it as much as he did, if not more. Belle had touched every corner of every room, filling it with light and love.

Everywhere he looked, he saw her. Fragments of sonnets and plays and prose written in her loopy, haphazard cursive, left on scraps of parchment, tucked between pages or cushions for him to find. Her words ringing clear throughout the room, her warm, brown eyes alight while she recited poetry. Belle’s hands tangled into his hair as he bent over a book, neither of them speaking but comfortable in the silence of each other’s company.

Adam found her apron thrown over the back of a chair. Taking the delicate, floral fabric between his hands, he shook his head at the state of it, plastered with charcoal stains. There was a large tear around the bottom hem, and one of the ties had begun to fray. He doubted even Plumette, who worked miracles with a needle and thread, could salvage it.

In the center of the chaos, settled at the table closest to the hearth, was his Belle. What the mirror had shown him had been true, though she had shifted in her sleep, so that he could see her cheek pressed against a small stack of books. A large sheet of parchment had been draped over top. Crumpled parchment, broken charcoal sticks, and hair pins had been left in her wake around the tabletop. A cup of tea, which he guessed had grown cold hours ago, sat untouched.

Adam side-stepped her discarded riding boots that she’d tossed next to her chair, endeared by the calm that had overtaken her in sleep. Brunette curls fell across one of her shoulders, loosened from the style Plumette had arranged this morning. Her arms, crossed in front of her on top of the books and parchment, hid part of her face. But he could still see the delicate swell of one cheek. Her lips were slightly parted, her breath causing the parchment to undulate. Adam, as always, was enamored by the dusting of freckles across her face like stardust.

He hated to wake her, but she looked terribly uncomfortable. This wasn’t the first time he had found her asleep in the library—not by any means. In the first weeks of making the castle her home, officially, she had favored the library instead of her rooms in the East Wing. He would stumble across her on nights when sleep wouldn’t come, but he would never wake her. Adam knew she felt safe here, knew it felt like home to a girl who once lived in a quaint cottage in the village. To Belle, books meant comfort.

He always seemed to leave a robe in the library. Adam would cover her with it and be on his way. Now he left it there on purpose, in case she should happen to wander down there in the night.

“Belle,” he whispered, gently nudging her shoulder. “Belle…” Adam leaned down, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Slowly, her eyes opened. Those brown eyes, still half-drenched in sleep, took him in and still caused his breath to hitch.

“Adam?” Her groggy reply was nothing short of endearing. She sat up, blinking at him like an owl, and he didn’t have the willpower to keep from laughing. Her eyes narrowed in an accusatory expression that he knew far too well. “ _What_?”

“My darling,” he said, grinning, “you have charcoal everywhere.”

“Is that all?” She yawned. “What time is it?”

“Well, from the sight of you, it’s time to retire to bed.”

He grabbed the discarded apron and brushed away the mess on her cheeks, chin, and forehead the best he could, though it seemed like a lost cause. He would have to deal with charcoal rubbing off on their bed linens. Belle was having trouble sitting upright; she’d never stay awake for a bath at this hour.

Adam dropped the apron on the chair next to Belle. Now that she’d sat up, he saw the parchment she’d fallen asleep on, and the culprit for the charcoal smeared all over her. They looked like plans—building plans. He couldn’t decipher her jumbled notes, and her arm had dissolved part of the title into a blur. All he could see was _Villeneuve_.

Belle’s head had begun to droop. “May I escort you to the West Wing, _Madame_? Before you drool all over your hard work?”

“I _don’t_ —” she started, fighting sleep. “As if you should talk. Out of all your…unsightly habits. The _worst_.”

The transformation had, in fact, left behind some side-effects. Some more embarrassing than others.

“Are you absolutely sure it isn’t forgetting to eat with utensils? Or perhaps sprinting up the grand staircase on all fours? Which has only happened _once_ , mind—”

“ _Twice_ ,” Belle slurred.

Adam thought for a moment. She was right. As usual. “At least it was never in front of any guests.”

He caught the hint of a smile cross her lips as he lifted her off the chair and into his arms. She settled against his chest, her head lolling into his shoulder, her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. Her hair smelled of roses and wood smoke. Adam kissed the top of her head, breathing it in.

“Adam,” she said, her voice light with sleep. Her eyes were closed. “I’ve had an idea.”

“Oh, I love it when you have those.”

“…A library.”

Adam’s brow furrowed. “You already have a vast and beautiful library, my love, but if you want another one, it can be arranged.”

“You silly man.” Her eyes were still closed. “A library…the village.”

“Ah,” he answered. “Villeneuve is long overdue for a proper library.”

Belle’s eyes opened. The prospect seemed to rouse her. “And I want to teach,” she said, her voice firmer. “I was thinking…”

He kissed her temple. “Oh, I love it when you do that.”

“A school for girls,” Belle said. “Here.”

“You would open up your library to the village?”

He looked down at her, astonished, wondering how many more times he would be surprised by her. Countless times, he imagined, for the love inside Belle’s heart was limitless.

“Of course,” she breathed, nestling back against his chest. Her breath tickled the hollow of his throat. “I want them…to see the magic of this place. To learn. And,” she yawned, “I’ll teach the young girls and women to read, no matter how many scathing looks the headmaster might throw at me.”

“And I won’t stand in your way, my darling.”

“I love it when you do that.”

Adam laughed as he carried her out of the library toward the West Wing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! But this chapter is super long to make up for it. I was procrastinating because I knew this one would be angsty. Apologies in advance...

There were some nights where even Belle’s presence beside him—her arm across his stomach, her legs tangled with his, her face as serene as the lake in summer—couldn’t keep the nightmares from bleeding into his dreams. Try as he might to hold onto sunny afternoons and Belle’s smile, his own anguish strangled him while he slept. He was left vulnerable to his demons as they tore away at his subconscious with claws that looked all too familiar. All too real.

Adam was dragged from sleep, his breath short and ragged, perspiration soaking through his shirt. He sat up, slowly, trying not to disturb Belle. She was curled on her side, her hair spilling across the pillows. In the dark, he lifted his hands up to his face and flexed his fingers, making a fist and releasing it a few times. He watched the muscles work beneath his skin and examined his knuckles until he was convinced they were real. Still flesh and bone. Still human, despite the doubts that had come to haunt him in the night.

Shivering from the sweat that had begun to dry on his skin, Adam planted his feet on the floor after leaving a kiss on Belle’s forehead. Strands of hair clung to his cheek, the back of his neck. His shirt felt too tight, his heartbeat unbearably loud and fast in his ears. If he stayed here any longer, even with Belle at his side, Adam feared the darkness would close in on him until it crushed his throat.

There was more room to breathe in the corridors. He took deep, slow breaths while he walked, willing his pulse to slow, hoping the voices and memories that crowded his mind would fade. A cold numbness spread up his fingertips, his whole body trembling beneath his damp clothes. Adam was grateful to be the only one awake, though surely the staff would be used to his erratic pacing by now.

The time escaped him—was it still night? Had the early hours of the morning begun to encroach on the dark?

He stopped for a moment when everything around him started to spin. Adam’s uncertain steps reminded him of the night the curse had been broken, when he had stood on two human feet for the first time in years. And yet, with his monstrous form gone, his subconscious seemed determined to remind him of his past.

Every mistake. Every explosion of his temper. Every gunshot. Every mark his damned father ever left on him.

Nausea made Adam’s stomach roil. He watched the candles burn low in their perches on the walls. Why did his mind continue to torture him so? The silence in the hallways of the castle only made the echoes of memories in his head louder, angrier. Fear and panic, working in harmony together, felt as though they were waging a war in his ribcage. He felt colder than the winds that had accompanied their eternal winter, yet a fire crept up the back of his neck, his face flushed pink.

Then he heard it, floating through the quiet corridors, rising from somewhere deep inside the castle. A familiar melody, nearly lost with the passage of time. A voice Adam thought he had forgotten.

Was it possible that he was still dreaming? She had dashed across his slumbering thoughts for barely a moment, and then…

Adam followed it, his footsteps steadier than they were before. The fire that snaked a trail up his spine blazed hot. His heart leapt in his chest, a mix of fear with just a glimmer of hope. How it had found its way in, he didn’t know. She couldn’t be…

The song had lead him to the threshold of the library, its doors wide open, every candle flickering in its brass holder. Adam stepped inside, anxiety welling to a crescendo in his chest. He forced himself to exhale once he laid eyes on a figure standing in the middle of the room with their back to him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. All he could see was her hair—golden, like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds after a storm. It tumbled in loose waves down her back, over the hood of her cloak.

Adam’s knees threatened to give out.

_Days in the sun_

_Where your life has barely begun_

_Not until my own life is done_

_Could I ever leave you…_

Adam’s voice shook. He could barely force out a whisper. “Maman?”

She pivoted on her heel and it took everything he had to keep himself from collapsing. A cold sweat broke out across his brow. He exhaled, closing his eyes tightly for a long minute to gain some semblance of control.

It wasn’t her.

Adam didn’t know for sure whether he wanted to be relieved or disappointed. It had been a foolish hope, to at least find her spirit wandering the castle. But what would he have done, if it had been her?

“Agathe.” His voice sounded hoarse, thick with the emotion he tried to suppress. “What are you doing here?”

He hadn’t seen her since the night of their wedding. And even then, she seemed to flitter around the edges of their grand party like an apparition, there one second and gone the next. Every time their paths crossed, he couldn’t help the fear that blossomed anew. The sight of her made his blood run cold, even though he no longer harbored any reason to be afraid of her.

Her stormy blue eyes beckoned him forward. She pressed her palm to his cheek like a parent seeking out a fever. Adam flinched under her touch. Her expression was thoughtful, but her eyes were filled with a sadness that he couldn’t possibly fathom. Or perhaps it was something else, something ancient and much more unreachable.

“My dear boy,” she said, taking his chin in her hand. “Your soul is still carrying so much torment.”

“Why are you here?” he repeated, his words tinged by a note of irritation. Her quiet statement had the power to open old wounds.

Adam felt as though he were standing in front of her, bleeding, wondering if she would staunch the flow. And he knew what that was like, in a way. She had done it before. Could she do the same for his soul? What sort of magic could erase years of regret and self-loathing and suffering?

Wordlessly, Agathe led him to her enchanted book, which had been locked away in a mahogany box for safe keeping. He watched her, hands poised over the ancient tome, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. The battered, yellow pages flipped on their own accord, radiant light wrapping around the book like vines growing in the garden. When the light vanished, it revealed an elaborate drawing of the castle, spread over both pages.

She looked at him again. The intensity of her gaze made him shift uncomfortably on his feet.

“Your pain is not mine to take away. Not this time,” she told him, as if reading his previous thoughts. “But perhaps…this might help you with whatever it is that you seek. You’ll find the memory of her within these pages.”

“What?” Adam was breathless. He could feel the tears he’d stifled earlier burning the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes.

“Your mother,” she said. He almost hated her for the way she said it, completely unaware of how it twisted at his chest.

“Be careful of the memories you pull to the surface,” Agathe warned. “This castle has held many of them, but as you know, not all of them are kind.”

Agathe left him alone in the library, alone with his torment, before he even had the chance to cobble together a question from his muddled thoughts. Adam supposed he should have been used to magic by now, no matter its form. The book, after all, had taken him and Belle to Paris, and the Italian countryside after they’d vowed to spend eternity as husband and wife. Memories, it seemed, were no longer out of the realm of possibility. But the prospect made his hands shake when he lifted the book off the table.

He sunk down into the cushions of a sofa and rested the book on top of his thighs. Adam stared at the rendering of the castle for a long time, listening to his heartbeat quicken in his ears, until every inch of the drawing became familiar. It looked like something Belle might sketch, her brow knit together while she swept a piece of well-worn charcoal across paper. Thick, black lines gave the castle its basic shape, every turret and window represented. Lighter gray filled in the details, down to every last brick. He convinced himself that Belle had drawn it, that Agathe had pulled it from her dreams somehow. The thought gave him some comfort.

His hand lingered over the pages, unable to touch them. Every time Adam willed himself to lay his palm against the drawing, he recoiled, panic brimming in his veins. Heaving a sigh, he tilted his head back against the couch to stare up at the magnificent blue ceilings. After a few minutes’ contemplation, Adam slid the book onto the cushion beside him and stood up. He turned his back on it, bare feet slapping against the marble floors until he reached the narrow spiral staircase up to the mezzanine.

Pacing the wooden balconies gave him the illusion that he had more room to breathe, to think. The book appeared to taunt him from its place on the sofa below, so he set to work drawing back the heavy curtains. Until then, he hadn’t known what time it was. The sun was just making its ascent on the horizon, pushing away the darkness. Once all of the curtains had been pulled back, Adam paused at one of the windows to admire the sky as it changed from night to dawn.

With no clouds to obstruct the view of the sun, its golden light began to reach the outer edges of the gardens. Mist danced across the lake and hung in the treetops. The leaves had shed the deep greens of summer for the reds and oranges of autumn. The light seemed to favor the bright yellow leaves, edging them with gold. Adam had nearly forgotten how beautiful the castle grounds looked this time of year.

Belle found him when the sky was filled with color—light reds and pinks and orange swirling around purple and blue.

“Adam?” Her voice echoed through the library. All at once the sound of her voice soothed his anxious heart.

He leaned against the balcony railing. Belle stood in the middle of the room in her bedclothes, wrapped in a light blue dressing gown.

“Up here,” he called. She peered up at him, her expression unreadable in the distance between them. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

“How long have you been awake?” There was a hint of mild concern in her question. Adam didn’t reply, because he honestly didn’t know the answer.

He climbed down the staircase knowing it wouldn’t take her long to discover Agathe’s book. When he settled beside her, smiling for the first time in hours at her unkempt hair and the sleep still heavy in her eyes, she had tilted her head to the side, gaze leveled at the opened pages. That was his Belle—always curious, ever vigilant about every last detail concerning her library. She looked at him, the grogginess on her face gone in what felt like an instant, sobered by the presence of magic.

Adam pushed strands of bed-tousled hair away from her cheek to cup her face in his palm before he kissed her. Belle returned his kiss, slow and gentle, one of her hands reaching for his own. He softened her bewildered look for a few moments, but after they broke apart, he couldn’t avoid her imploring brown eyes.

“The book…I didn’t know it had more than the atlas.” Belle let go of his hand and lowered herself onto the sofa. She picked up the book reverently, cautious of its power, yet fascinated by the pages.

“It didn’t,” Adam replied. “At least, not until a few hours ago.”  

She stared at him, an eyebrow raised. “How?”

“Agathe.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “She was here? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I thought it would be considerate to let you sleep.” Adam shrugged, settling into the empty cushion beside Belle. “I was up already, anyway…”

She seemed unsatisfied with this answer, as her fascination gave way to worry. “You look exhausted.”

He laughed, but it sounded hollow, and Belle’s worry didn’t ease. “Thank you, darling.” Adam knew she was right; he could feel the exhaustion in his bones.

Belle leaned her head against his shoulder. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, you know.” She placed the book across their legs and laced her fingers through his. “You aren’t alone anymore, Adam, so please don’t think you still have to endure anything without me here to help you. No matter what it is…you can come to me.”

“I know that.”

“Oh, did you, now? Because it looked to me like you’d shut yourself away in the library before sunrise without telling your wife. Who, mind you, happens to know that Agathe doesn’t make visits unless it’s of great importance.”

“My ever-observant wife.”

Belle’s shoulder knocked into his side. “Tell me about Agathe’s book.”

He sighed. “I suppose it works similarly to the atlas,” Adam began, “except this chapter holds memories. Memories of the castle…me—my childhood, my mother…”

_My father…_

He heard Belle’s sharp intake of breath. He marveled at how the sunlight, now filtering through the windows, turned her brown eyes amber. She had such a look of love in them that he pressed his lips to her temple.

“I’d love to meet her.”

Adam felt the sorrow once again tugging at his heart. He averted his gaze, off to the furthest bookshelves, watching the dust drifting in the morning sun. Belle’s grip on his hand tightened.

“I don’t know if…” He let his words wander off, his throat tight.

“You went with me to Paris, to my home,” Belle reasoned. “I’ll come with you. I’ll be right here, like always.”

He nodded. Belle untangled their fingers and guided his hand to the page, as he had done for her months ago. She placed her hand on top of his, and he focused on the warmth of her skin, the strength in her touch. The pages came alive under his palm, the drawing of the castle surging with veins of ethereal light.

A strange wind played with their hair and made the edges of the page flutter. Adam and Belle looked about the room, the same radiant glow sparkling and shimmering from the ceilings, pouring down the bookshelves like waterfalls. They remained where they were, but Agathe’s magic illuminated the library, pulling back the years as if they themselves were pages in a book.

The library looked relatively the same, yet the light outside had vanished, the curtains drawn closed. Fire crackled in the hearth. Belle’s elaborate pulley system was gone; everything appeared less used, less lived-in. Adam deposited the book onto the table in front of them. He held his breath, every nerve heightened, unsure of who exactly he might see.

Belle grabbed his hand when the door’s hinges let out a loud whine. Adam’s breath hitched. A small boy, not more than five years old, bounced into the room. He was all silken blond hair and toothy smiles and boundless energy. He took no notice to either of them, whirling in circles with his cherub face tilted toward the ceiling. Next to Adam, Belle dissolved into giggles, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“ _Look at you_ ,” Belle whispered. She shook her head, her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe this…”

“What? That I was an adorable child at one point in my life?”

Belle swatted his arm. “Funny.”

Heels clicked against the marble floor, announcing the arrival of his mother. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she closed the doors and revealed a key from the pockets under her petticoats. Hearing the lock brought a nostalgic rush of comfort to Adam. He felt safe, nestled away in here, separated from the memory of his father. Emotion seized his throat the second his mother turned around, offering a gentle smile to the little boy he once was.

“Maman,” Adam whispered.

He watched her lower onto one knee in front of the boy, taking his small face in her hands. The silk skirts of her gown rustled when she moved; the bright green reminded him of the forest in spring. The jewels of her elegant necklace glittered in the candlelight. White roses, plucked fresh from her garden, were tucked in between the blonde curls of her lavish hairstyle. She ran her fingers through her son’s hair, then left a kiss on the top of his head while she hugged young Adam to her chest. There was pain in her eyes—so blue like his own—that he couldn’t have possibly seen when he was a boy. Not until now.

“Oh, Adam,” Belle said. “She’s beautiful.”

“She was.” He felt warm tears spill down his face, and when he turned to look at Belle, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were like glass.

His mother stood, regarding the young boy in front of her. “Pick out a book, my love, and we’ll read until you fall asleep.”

“But I’m not tired,” his five year old counterpart protested.

His mother laughed. “Is that so?”

Young Adam nodded furiously, bursting with childish bravado.

“Well.” She grinned. “You must find a long book, then.”

Adam rose from the sofa. Belle followed, her hand never leaving his. Belle’s stare was fixed on Adam’s mother, while Adam couldn’t help the teary smile that crossed his lips seeing his young counterpart run across the library. The boy knew exactly which book he wanted, knew exactly where it was. He returned to his mother with it clutched against his stomach, and from the sight of the cover beneath his small arms, she knew without a doubt which story he had chosen.

“That one?” She chuckled. “We’ve read it before. Many times.”

Young Adam pushed the book into her hands, insistent. “This one.”

His mother nodded. “All right, my love.”

She held out her hand and he took it. Leading him to the chaise, she settled in and pulled the boy into her lap. Young Adam rested his head against her shoulder, his legs draped across hers sideways. She held the book out in front of them, sharing a smile with her young son before she started to read. Adam led Belle over to the two of them, his own sadness fading into awe as they moved closer.

His mother looked as real, sounded as real as the day he’d said goodbye to her. The scent of the white roses lifted in the air, mingling with the jasmine perfume she always wore. She was there, within reach, but oblivious to their presence. Adam wanted nothing more than to grab her hand like he’d done as a boy. It seemed almost cruel for Agathe to give him this and still make her lifetimes away.

Adam listened to her recount Arthurian legends; he could nearly see his young mind at work, imagination running wild with tales of knights and adventure. Belle cried quietly next to him, trying so hard not to intrude, but Adam disentangled their fingers to wrap an arm around her. She leaned into him, a hand splayed against his torso.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, her voice low and shaking. “I thought I’d be able to hold myself together.”

“I don’t think either of us are doing a very good job of that,” Adam admitted. He pressed his lips to the curve of her cheek. “I’m grateful you’re here with me.”

She nodded, then brushed away a tear from Adam’s chin. “Tell me about her.”

Adam inhaled an uneven breath. “She had a good soul,” he found himself saying. “Compassionate…gentle. A beautiful singing voice. You could hear it echoing across the gardens in spring. But she loved this room most of all.”

He saw Belle’s lower lip tremble as he continued. “My father had this library built for her, long before I was ever a thought. He never set foot in it, so it became her sanctuary. And mine, too, I suppose. She nurtured my love of reading, shared her favorite stories with me—she liked mythology. And poetry, especially Shakespeare’s sonnets.” Belle laughed. “…We spent hours in this room. Sometimes I’d fall asleep…and then I’d wake the next morning in my own room with a book tucked under my arm.”

“You gave the library to me,” Belle said, staring up at him with those thoughtful eyes of hers. The realization seemed to hit her all at once.

“She would want you to have it,” Adam assured. “She would’ve loved you.”

They stood there listening to his mother read, Adam’s gaze hardening.

“Sometimes I’m thankful she didn’t live to see what I’d become,” he said. “She would’ve hated me. It would’ve broken her heart to see that little boy turn into the man she feared. That was what haunted me most—spending those years locked away in this castle, thinking of how miserably I’d failed her. I’d done nothing but tarnish her memory.” 

“You’re not that man now,” Belle said pointedly. She caressed his face, her fingers a steadying anchor. “She would be _proud_ of you.”

He wrenched himself away from Belle’s touch, casting one last glance at the vision of his mother as he stalked back to the book lying on the table.

“Adam—”

“I can still feel his anger inside my veins like a sickness,” he said, his back turned toward Belle. “Every morning I wake up fearing I’ll never be rid of it, that I’ll do something foolish and lose myself again. Or lose you.”

He could hear Belle’s footsteps behind him. “You’re better than your father could ever dream of being.” A tremor laced her words. “You’re a far better man because you _changed_. I’ve seen it. You look at me, every day, with such love that sometimes I don’t know what to do with it all.”

Belle sighed. “You’re certainly foolish and stubborn, that I _will_ give you.” He could just hear the grin on her face. He was thankful she couldn’t see him, since he’d lost all semblance of composure.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Belle told him, “and neither are you. You have too much kindness in your heart to let your father’s anger in. And I know one day our children won’t know anything but love, and compassion, and the sound of their parents disagreeing about Shakespeare.”

Adam’s knees finally failed him.

Belle appeared at his side immediately, one hand against his back, the other wrapped around his upper arm. She helped him to his feet and around the table to the sofa. He couldn’t see; tears clouded his vision, turning everything around him into a blur of color. He heard the book snap shut, so Belle must have closed it as they sunk back down into the sofa cushions. A gust of cool air heralded them to the library of present day, but Adam paid no mind to it. Belle drew him to her, her arms cradling his head while he sobbed, her fingers running through his hair to calm him.

He clutched at the silk of her dressing gown, his weeping soon muffled into the fabric. Belle held onto him without question, without judgement, allowing him to mourn. His father had never granted him the time. His father had not let him cry. This time, Adam let himself fall apart because he knew she would be there to help him pull himself back together.

Belle murmured words of comfort in his ear, raking her lithe fingers through his damp hair until he finally drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading!
> 
> I saw the deleted "Days in the Sun" scene on Tumblr and it served as inspiration for this chapter. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is definitely much lighter than the previous one. :)
> 
> Shout out to fellow fanfic writer tinydooms who let me borrow her adorable character, Julia, from her fic "What We May Be" for this chapter. If you haven't read her fic, I recommend that you do it immediately because it's the cutest thing ever. 
> 
> Happy reading!

It had taken a lot of time, persistence—of which Belle had plenty to spare—and convincing, but finally, a year and a half later, she’d opened up the library as a school for girls and women. Adam had not needed to be convinced, not at all; he’d encouraged her every step, and soothed every frustration that had left Belle on the verge of tearing out her hair. Rather, it was the villagers who needed to be persuaded. The same villagers who had once mocked and excluded Belle for reading would not, of course, take to her school kindly, no matter the change in her status. Princess or not, Villeneuve still seemed resistant to change, despite all that had happened since the curse was lifted.

A school for girls _and_ a library (a proper one, one Belle had often dreamed of, not the tiny collection of books in Père Robert’s chapel) seemed all too much for Villeneuve to bear. But, the village library neared completion; Adam and Père Robert had overseen its progress, with Belle laying out the plans for its construction. Adam was on his way there now, and Belle did not expect him back until mid-afternoon. She thought it might be good for him to spend more time in Villeneuve. If she could not ease the minds of their people, perhaps, then, he could.

The library was already illuminated with the morning sun when Belle entered. A fire in the hearth spread warmth to the room, dissolving the chill of the previous night. Dressed simply in her worn riding boots and dark pink petticoats with a floral bodice she’d hand-sewn, Belle felt like the farm girl she still was at heart. And now she happened to be a princess. And the headmistress of a school that was only a couple months old. She felt like more of the latter; royal life was an ongoing adjustment.

With a few books in one arm, balanced against her hip, Belle approached the rows of desks that were arranged meticulously in the center room. Plumette had long since shown up to make certain that they were spotless for the young girls. She wove between the rows, feather duster in hand, specks of dust rising in her wake to shimmer in the golden sun.

“Good morning, Plumette,” Belle smiled. She dropped the books onto a nearby table. They would need to be re-shelved later; they had been sitting, already read, on the vanity table in their bedchamber for entirely too long.

“Ah, good morning, Madame,” Plumette said. “We are nearly ready for the little ones. Perhaps more will show up this time, yes?”

Belle sighed, picking up the stack of writing slates from the table. “If the people weren’t so frustratingly small-minded and stubborn, every girl in the village would be here. That’s my hope, anyway.” She moved down the rows, depositing a slate and a piece of chalk on each desktop. “We all deserve the same opportunities as men and young boys. I’ve never seen the point of valuing one’s education over another.”

“It is a good thing you are doing,” Plumette replied. “One day this room will be filled with students. You’ll see.” She grinned at Belle before floating out the doorway, leaving Belle to the silence of her classroom.

There were, in all, twenty desks, but Belle’s morning class did not even fill half of them. Her youngest students, girls from ages five to thirteen, arrived early in the morning, after Villeneuve had begun its routine day. A late-afternoon class of adolescent young women had been arranged, but two months into the school’s founding, Belle could only persuade a handful of students to attend.

Lastly, a nighttime class met following the end of the workday, for women who wished to learn to read and write. Since this class had turned out to be just as disappointing in attendance as the others, Belle had extended her invitation to Messieurs LeFou and Stanley, who both shared a desire to learn. (And, as it turned out, they also desired to throw each other longing looks and flirtatious grins and carry on secret, whispered conversations whenever they thought Belle wasn’t paying attention, like a couple of troublesome schoolboys.)

Belle surveyed her classroom. Perhaps Plumette was right. Everything needed time.

She stepped up to the oversized writing slate she had fashioned for the front of the classroom, a large piece of dark gray slate attached to an ornate frame, which had then been attached to a pair of old wheels at the bottom through some painstaking engineering and a few bruises and too many splinters. It wobbled a little too much for Belle’s liking—the design needed some fine-tuning—but it served its purpose just as well. She dragged the chalk across the slate, her neat handwriting forming the alphabet in lower and upper case letters.

“Come, come,” Belle heard Chapeau’s voice at the door, and a small army of gentle, curious footsteps. “ _Oui_ , right this way. Have a seat anywhere you like.”

Belle nodded at Chapeau before he disappeared back into the hallway, and smiled at each of her young students while they took to their desks. Most had attended regularly, a hornbook tucked underneath their arm with care. But, to Belle’s joyous surprise, there were several new faces. The newest prospective students collided into one another in a cluster in front of the doorway, heads tilted upward, mouths agape.

Belle couldn’t blame them, really. She’d had the same reaction to seeing the library for the very first time; it had brought tears to her eyes, it was so beautiful. And some days, when the light filtered through the windows just right, the spines of the books on the shelves gleaming, it still had the ability to fill her with the same sense of awe and wonder that now overtook the girls’ faces.

She saw herself in them—all girls from modest homes with simple lives, knowing nothing beyond their small town. Never had they seen a room so enchanting, so inviting, so…elegant. Belle couldn’t wait for every book on the shelves to be made available to them, to let them explore and seek adventure just as she had done.

Belle laughed. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

A few girls nodded slowly, though most were still transfixed, eyes darting back and forth across the rooms. Belle approached, extra hornbooks gathered from a table on her way to greet them.

“It’s my favorite room in the whole of the castle,” she told them. “And I’m so pleased to share it with all of you.”

Belle handed out the books to her new students and guided them to vacant desks as they stared upward, a little dazed, at the vaulted ceilings where the stars glittered in gold. She took her place at the front of the desks, grinning from one ear to the other over the fact that over half of them had now been filled. It was a small step, but it was progress.

“Good morning.”

The group of young girls chimed in all at once, uttering wishes of “Good morning, Madame” and “Good morning, Belle” and even a few insisted, “Good morning, Princess Belle.”

“You may call me Belle—just Belle. All right? It makes it much easier for all of us.” There were several slow nods. “And now I need to know what to call all of you.”

 

 ***

After introductions had been made, Belle settled into her lesson for the day, reviewing letters and the sounds they made, together and apart. She took extra care with the new students, assuring them that they would be able to catch up in their own time, by their own pace. Belle was in the middle of reviewing vowels, pointing to each one as they were written across the slate, when the doors creaked open, interrupting the girls’ recitations. A slightly flustered Cogsworth appeared, leaning heavily on his walking stick. He marched into the room, three girls trailing behind him like ducklings.

“Madame,” he announced, voice echoing in the grand room. “We have a few latecomers.”

Belle set down the piece of chalk, wiping her dusty hands onto the front of her apron. “That’s all right, Monsieur Cogsworth. They’re more than welcome to join us.” She flashed a smile at the trio of girls, one of them very young, and the two others somewhere, to Belle’s estimation, around ten years of age. “Please, don’t be shy, introduce yourselves.”

The youngest girl took a deep breath, her name coming forth in an excitable squeal, “Charlotte!”

One of the older girls curtsied. “Emilie, Mada—oh! Uh— _Princesse_ Belle.”

“Belle will do just fine,” she said. “Thank you, Emilie.”

The third girl offered a harried curtsy, too, her brow streaked with perspiration, strands of hair matted to her cheeks. She seemed to be out of breath. “It’s Julia, Madame Belle.” Her eyes were wide, catching Belle’s in a rather sheepish expression. “My apologies, Madame. I didn’t mean to be late…I had to sneak out before sunrise, you see, and I had to walk the entire way.”

Belle’s eyebrows pulled together, concerned. “It’s quite all right, Julia.” She gave a sympathetic smile. “You’ll be asleep on your feet if you try that again. I’ll have transportation arranged for you, and anyone else who might need it, before next class.” Julia’s expression brightened. “Take your seats, then, and we’ll get started.”

“A lot of new faces, I see,” Cogsworth said, appraising the classroom with a keen eye. “I doubt all of them have heard about the grand history of the castle and its library.”

“I don’t think we have the time—” Belle tried, though she knew the effort was useless.

“Nonsense!” Cogsworth declared. “There is _always_ time. These young ladies have asked for an education, and an education they shall get.”

Belle had suffered through enough of Cogsworth’s long-winded history lectures (some of them she had heard on multiple occasions, as he had favorite stories to recount endlessly) to know that her students would not stay alert to hear all of it. Especially not at this hour. While Cogsworth droned on, weaving from one excessive side story to another, Belle watched her students’ eyes glaze over. Some of them let their gazes wander to the bookshelves, the chandeliers, the globes and atlases around the room. Others held their chins in their palms, eyelids heavy, drooping until they were sound asleep. Cogsworth seemed unaware that his audience had nodded off, lost in the depths of history.

When her students had finally been released back to her, nearly all of them were asleep or on the verge of drifting off. Belle doubted any of them had eaten breakfast, and the early hour only exacerbating things.

“This won’t do,” Belle said. There would be no learning if they went on like this.

 ***

Belle reentered the library after her trip down to the kitchen, and as expected, none of the girls had roused themselves. Some were asleep sitting up, mouths open, while others had laid their heads on their desks, cheeks pressed to their crossed arms. Belle had to stifle a laugh; how many times had she fallen asleep here at a table, just like that?

“All right,” she announced. “Everyone out of their desks. Come on, everyone stand up.” Belle went up and down the rows, giving each girl a gentle tap on the shoulder. “We’re moving over here, in front of the fire.” There was a chorus of yawns and groans as the girls got to their feet, moving reluctantly and stretching stiff arms while they went. “Make yourselves comfortable. It’s all right, have a seat on the sofas and chairs.”

They crowded together on the sofas that were situated across from one another, sinking into the cushions, sitting on each other’s petticoats. A couple of girls slipped off their shoes and nestled into the oversized armchairs, tucking their feet underneath them. The rest settled down on the plush rug, looking up at Belle eagerly. They traded confused looks with each other, a murmur of hushed conversation growing.

Before Belle had a chance to explain the situation, Mrs. Potts rushed through the doors, Chapeau on her heels, and Frou-Frou chasing after him, yelping and trying to nip at Chapeau’s shoes.

“Here you go, dears,” Mrs. Potts said, grinning broadly. “Something to warm you up and fill your bellies. Can’t have you learning on an empty stomach, now can we?”

“ _Off_ ,” Chapeau snapped at Frou-Frou, keeping his voice a harsh whisper. “Away, you silly dog!”

Chapeau delivered a silver tray laden with small dishes onto the table in the middle of where the girls were seated. The plates overflowed with croissant rolls and fresh baked bread still warm from the oven. Little glass jars of jam and preserves were nestled between them, along with some fresh fruit. The sight of all that food provoked gasps and wide, excited smiles from the girls, who stared in utter awe as Mrs. Potts handed them each a steaming teacup.

She left sugar and milk on the table beside the food. “There, now,” she told them. “That’s better. Eat up, before that bread gets cold. But mind your tea, dears, it’s piping hot.”

Frou-Frou circled the group, barking and yelping, distracting the girls from their meal, seeking attention. She jumped into laps and licked faces and hands, all while the girls erupted into giggles and squeals of delight. Belle laughed and shook her head—at this rate, they wouldn’t be getting much progress today. But it was enough to see the girls all smiling, calling the energetic dog over to them so they could bury their fingers into her fur and try to sneak her pieces of fruit.

“Come, Frou-Frou,” Mrs. Potts warned. “Let these young ladies eat.”

She gave the last teacup to Belle. “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble at all, you know that,” Mrs. Potts said. “And you know just where to find me if you need anything else.”

 ***

Adam returned from Villeneuve early, pleased with how Belle’s vision for a library in the village had finally taken shape. The bookshelves were being constructed today, and he knew that the next time Belle rode into the village, she, too, would be overjoyed to see that now it looked and felt like a library and not just any other stone building. She had an artist’s mind, inherited from her father, and an inventor’s spirit all her own. He couldn’t keep up with her half the time, but he was more than content to watch her at work and see to it that whatever she envisioned became reality. The library was tentatively scheduled to open in a month’s time, whether the villagers wanted it to or not.

In an effort to blend in—and whether or not it helped, Adam couldn’t be sure—he had dressed in a simple pair of blue breeches and a light gray waistcoat, his hair pulled back into a messy tail with a scrap of dark blue silk. He had spent some time talking to the villagers, Père Robert at side, offering assurances that the presence of this library would not, in fact, herald the coming of days and it would be a good thing for all of them, young women included. They were a tough crowd to please. Adam, in fleeting moments, had to shake the memory of them invading the castle with torches and weapons, calling for his death. It was quite an odd situation overall, but he figured it would be best to continue making some sort of effort to put that… _unfortunate_ past behind them.

He meandered through the corridors, a path he knew by heart, to a room where he had spent half of his childhood. A room that belonged to the woman who now knew his heart.

The door was open, white sunlight spilling into the shadows of the hall. Belle’s voice drifted toward him, followed by a group of young, high-pitched responses. He grinned before he even reached the threshold. The classroom sounded much more crowded today.

Adam paused in the shadows of the doorway, out of sight. Belle had a book propped in her arms, a piece of chalk still between her fingers. She read out a sentence, her eyes alight, a smile curving her lips. He recognized that smile. It was the same one he woke up to in odd hours of the morning, when Belle found herself struck with an idea that she had to share and write down before it left her. It was the same one he saw while she discussed the novel she’d fallen asleep reading the night before when they ate breakfast. It was the smile she wore when they recited sonnets together and he matched her line for line, until they were both silenced with a kiss.

It delighted him beyond anything he could have ever imagined, to see Belle so happy.

Belle’s back was turned when he slipped into the library and rounded the arranged desks to settle in an empty one in the last row. A hush fell over the group, a dozen or so pairs of small, bright eyes following his every movement. Whispers moved quickly through their ranks, trailed closely by giggles and a few dreamy gazes. Belle hadn’t quite noticed the dramatic shift in the atmosphere yet. Her hand moved across the large slate, chalk scratching against the surface, elegant cursive letters forming a simple sentence: _The blue bird flies over the dark wood._

He rested his chin in his palm, elbow propped on the desktop. Adam stared at her, blue eyes narrowed, wondering how long it would take for her to notice.

“Repeat after me,” she said, back still to them. Belle read the sentence, going over each word slowly.

“’The blue bird flies over the dark wood,’” the girls and Adam repeated, though the words were drowned out by a chorus of laughter and giggling as Adam’s deep voice conflicted with theirs.

Belle pivoted on her heel. And found him. The look in her eyes was playful, though she shook her head.

“ _You_ ,” Belle said, “are a distraction.”

Adam folded his hands in front of him and suppressed more than a few replies that were nowhere near appropriate.

Fortunately, one of the girls saved him, at the urging of the friends sitting around her. “Will you read to us, Prince Adam?” she asked. “Belle says you have the best reading voice.”

More giggles. A chorus of girls murmured their agreement.

Adam lifted an eyebrow. “Does she really?”

If he didn’t know any better, Adam swore he saw his wife blush. He rose from the desk, smirking, clear blue eyes full of mischief as he joined Belle at the front of the classroom. Belle laughed and hit him in the center of the chest with her closed book. Adam tried to look scandalized, but it didn’t work, because neither he nor Belle could keep a straight face. He leaned over and left a quick kiss on her cheek, which earned him some quiet sighs and gasps and even more excited giggling from Belle’s students.  

That afternoon, he recited Shakespeare by heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if it'll make it into this fic, but I have a personal headcanon that LeFou volunteers to transport students to and from the castle for classes. :D


	5. Chapter 5

As with most things in their marriage, yet another great adventure started with one very knowing look.

The heavy doors to the library clicked shut, Belle’s back pressed up against the solid mahogany while she turned the key in the lock and scanned the cavernous rooms in search of her husband. Outside, dusk had long since fallen, the last of the day’s sunlight shrinking beyond the horizon. Most of the curtains had been drawn for the evening, candles set ablaze around the rooms to give the library a perfect hazy glow. There seemed to be nothing more comforting than the spines of thousands upon thousands of books awash in orange and gold.

Belle giggled when she finally spotted Adam roaming across the mezzanine like he was utterly lost and hadn’t spent a day in these rooms in his entire life. He reminded her of the night the curse had been broken; restless, slightly unkempt, and walking about barefoot in nothing but a pair of breeches and a shirt. If she hadn’t noticed the hard line between his brows—a determined stare, if ever she saw one—Belle might’ve guessed that she’d discovered him traipsing aimlessly in his sleep.

She leaned against the banister at the landing of the spiral staircase, peering up at him. “What is it you’re searching for?”

Adam shrugged, and Belle found herself endeared by the way his hard stare dissolved into one of confusion, a sheepish sort of grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I suppose this is what happens when one has an endless catalog of books to choose from.” He paused halfway down the staircase, hands planted behind his back on the banister. “I haven’t the faintest idea what to read next.”

“Such a difficult life you lead, _mon prince_ ,” Belle teased.

Adam narrowed his gaze at her while he moved the rest of the way down the staircase, though Belle could see it was all mischief. “But _you_ ,” he said, pointedly. “You seem to know precisely what you’re searching for.”

He met her at the bottom of the staircase at last and drew her against his chest, one hand splayed across the small of her back. Belle’s laughter rang clear throughout the northern end of the library, echoing to the gilt stars painted along the ceilings. She carded her fingers through his hair, marveling at how the candlelight turned it gold, how the room made his eyes sparkle. Belle would never tire of seeing the brightness of Adam’s eyes. There was so much life behind them now—a life that she was grateful for.

She rose on tiptoe to brush her nose against Adam’s. “Do I?”

Adam hummed, then answered Belle’s question with a kiss. By the way his lips captured hers—urgent, wanting, and perhaps a little rough—Belle knew at once that the moment she’d walked into the library, all of Adam’s bookish thoughts had flown out the window. He scooped her up into his arms and Belle kissed him back with fire in her veins, holding his face between her palms. He knew her heart like no other in this world, she was certain.

They stopped, breathless, just long enough for Adam to set her down on the edge of one of the long work tables, where books and papers and ink pots had been left scattered. Neither of them paid any mind to the mess, they were far too preoccupied with each other. It hadn’t surprised Adam to learn that the library had become his wife’s favorite place in the entire castle to make love. Surrounded by the scent of aged books and doused in flickering candlelight seemed right, as they had agreed that the beginning of their own story had been in these very rooms. And it was one of the few places where the two of them knew they would be left alone, for the staff had taken the hint not to intrude whenever the doors had been closed.

Adam unfurled the sash that kept Belle’s silk dressing gown tied, sliding it from her shoulders. She wore nothing underneath but a linen chemise, though Adam now radiated enough heat that she never grew cold. Belle shoved the edge of Adam’s shirt upward, her hands exploring the lean muscle and warm skin beneath. Adam sighed at her curious fingers, his lips roving down her neck to her delicate collarbone, leaving a trail of light kisses behind. He worked slowly, at a pace that Belle found agonizing, provoking the slightest gasps and sighs with his insistent touch. Adam knew her heart as well as her body, and delighted in the sound of Belle’s pleasure resonating in the expansive room.

Belle lay back on the table, hair mussed and in wild tangles, her face already flushed. Adam leveled her with a wicked grin and laughed when she matched it perfectly, brown eyes alight. She propped herself up onto her elbows, then finally dragged the shirt over Adam’s head, tossing it to the floor. She inhaled as she felt Adam’s hand push up the hem of her chemise, and pulled him down for a kiss when his fingers skirted the inside of her thigh.

Before Adam’s deft fingers had the opportunity to wander any further, there was a great _whoosh_ sound that halted both of them. Belle felt the sudden flair of heat lick the side of her face and scrambled up from the table, nearly jamming a knee into Adam’s nose in the process. The two of them watched, helpless, as flames incinerated the papers and books strewn on the table’s surface.

“ _Adam!_ ”

Belle hopped down from the table, retrieved the key from the pocket of her dressing gown, and attempted to shove it into the lock as fast as her shaking hands would allow. Adam was on her heels; he glanced behind his shoulder, eyes wide in dread, to see the flames climbing their way up the towering bookshelves. The room grew hot with the fire’s rapid destruction, books crackling and popping as they were devoured.

Belle wrenched the door open and the two of them spilled into the corridor. “ _Help!”_ she shouted, hoping some of the staff were close by. “There’s a fire in the library! We need help, quickly!”

“Fetch some water!” Adam yelled, skidding on the marble floors in his haste to reach the nearest washroom. While a few of the maids moved toward the library with buckets of water in hand, Adam nearly collided with Lumière on their way into the washroom.

“What _happened_?” Lumière demanded as they headed into the library, buckets filled to the brim sloshing all over the sleek floors.

“Overturned candle,” Adam huffed.

Lumière noticed his missing shirt, but kept his questions to himself. Adam assumed he knew better than to ask.

A bucket brigade had been assembled in record time, a trail of servants stretching out the door and down the hallway. Adam stomped through the puddles of water alongside Lumière and handed off his bucket to Chip, who passed it down the line. The flames had almost been snuffed out; just a few embers burned and some stubborn flares licked at the books on the topmost shelves. Plumette had braved them—she was unafraid of a little fire, of course—to climb one of the ladders and douse them with a bucket passed up to her by Chapeau.

Adam found Belle standing amongst the wreckage formerly known as the corner of the library, arms wrapped tightly around herself. He was grateful that as a whole it had been spared, but the deep black scorch marks running like scars along the bookshelves tore at his heart. All could be repaired, he supposed, but Belle’s despondent, faraway stare did nothing to lessen the ache. The pungent odor of fire and smoke still hung heavily around them. Adam settled beside his wife and slung an arm about her shoulders, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“Oh, Adam,” she whispered, looking up at him with tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He offered his best reassuring smile. “It’s all right, my love. They’re just books.”

The look she gave him—eyes wide as saucers, mouth agape, absolutely horrified—was enough to make him laugh, loudly, despite the situation. “You know what I mean, Belle. You survived the ordeal unscathed, that is what’s most important.”

He hugged her close. She burrowed into him and he felt her sigh against his skin. “Perhaps next time we’ll be more mindful of the candles,” Adam said.

Belle hid her blushing face in Adam’s side. “…All my fault…”

“No, darling, I believe we’re both to blame.” He dropped his voice and smoothed her tousled hair with his fingers. “Between the two of us, that table didn’t stand a chance.”

 ***

Belle couldn’t bear the sight of their wounded library, its gorgeous blue paint and ornate wood shelves marred by pitch black stains that ran down the walls like spilled ink. Books reduced to piles of ash and charred, twisted bindings. An entire chess set destroyed, a fine brass globe melted and warped out of shape. Classic works of literature, historical texts, and Adam’s beloved collection of the Arthurian legends lost to the fire that Belle could not keep from reliving whenever she closed her eyes. She’d noticed his forlorn expression as he kicked at lumps of ash and remnants of books in the light of day, once he’d discovered some of his favorites among the rubble. He’d said nothing about it, even assured her that all could be replaced, but Belle knew the sentimental value of a well-loved book.

So, she escaped to the newly completed library in Villeneuve, a quaint stone building in the furthest corner of the square that deceived onlookers by appearing much smaller on the outside. Her papa had painted the sign that hung above the doors—a bright red rose outlined in gold that sparkled whenever the sun hit it just right, lying on top of an opened book. Every window was stained glass, throwing a rainbow of color across the floors and bookshelves in the daylight. The images the windows contained were familiar ones: a tale of an enchanted rose and a castle bound by magic in an endless winter, where a young woman would find a beast and set him free with three beautiful words.

Inside there were two floors furnished from top to bottom with books, some from the castle’s own library, others acquired during Belle and Adam’s frequent trips by way of the Atlas. The upstairs floor now housed Belle’s schoolroom, making it a much shorter journey for the women and girls in Villeneuve and its surrounding towns to get an education. Every other day, she took Phillippe into the village (the formality of using a carriage still did not suit her, and she loved any excuse to take Phillippe out) and taught a room that came close to overflowing. Belle had even earned the respect of the headmaster of the boys’ school, now that his students had a wealth of knowledge at their fingertips. Progress, indeed.

Today, school was not in session, but the library hummed with quiet voices and rustling pages. Belle had claimed an armchair by the hearth opposite Père Robert, who had inquired about her stormy demeanor the moment she sat down. Sparing the salacious details, Belle lamented the damned candle that had started it all.

“Oh, it was _awful_ ,” she continued, after a sip from her teacup. “All of those books gone so quickly…”

“It’s a small mercy that most of the library was spared, is it not?” he asked. “As well as your lives. I’d say a real tragedy was avoided.”

“Yes, I know that,” Belle replied. “Of course I know the two of us were fortunate to escape. But that was Adam’s mother’s collection of Arthurian legends. I’ve drafted a letter to his family in England to see if I can replace it with a similar edition, but how can I substitute something that he held so dear?”

“The _memories_ are what he holds close to his heart, Belle,” Père Robert said. “Objects can only keep so much, but memories cannot be destroyed by fire.”

“You’re right.” She sighed. “But it doesn’t make it any less terrible. Those _poor books_ …”

“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, finishing the last of his tea. “But you shouldn’t continue to blame yourself for an accident. The ash will settle and you’ll rebuild from it.”

 ***

When Belle returned the castle, the light had begun to fade, the stars winking into existence on the horizon. Adam was waiting for her in the entranceway, hands folded behind his back, absolutely beaming from one ear to the other. He rocked back and forth on his heels, reminding Belle of an impatient schoolboy from Villeneuve.

She lifted an eyebrow, suspicious. “What is it?”

Adam held out his arm. “I’ve something to show you.”

Belle looped her arm around his, but her eyes remained narrowed. “I’m not in the mood for surprises…”

“I think you’ll like this one.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.”

Adam led her down a familiar path, still grinning. Belle let out a noisy exhale that felt more like a defeated groan once they reached the closed library doors. Adam released her arm and stood in front of her with his back to them.

“Now,” he announced. “Close your eyes.”

Belle answered him with a lopsided frown. “Must I?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Adam drawled. “Trust me, my love.”

She complied, squeezing her eyes shut, crossing her arms over her chest. What could he have possibly done in a single afternoon to help the situation?

Belle felt the air stir around her face as Adam waved his hand in front of her eyes to see if she was peeking. Her lopsided frown dissolved into a crooked grin, and at last, she heard the library doors squeal open on their hinges. With a hand at her elbow, Adam guided her into the room, their footsteps resonant across marble until they came to a stop. The first thing Belle noticed was the absence of the odor left behind by the smoke. Where the burning scent had been inescapable, there was now the aroma of a fresh breeze and an earthy smell that Belle could only describe as the dense countryside that isolated the castle.

“All right,” Adam said. “You may open your eyes.”

Belle did so slowly, eyelids fluttering, until the rooms came softly into focus. They were as pristine as the day she’d first set foot in them, when Adam had allowed her into his world, his heart, this sanctuary in the middle of an enchanted castle. The gilt detailing on the shelves glittered back at her. The walls were no longer splotched in black, the piles of ash and debris left behind by the fire swept away. Most curious of all, the books seemed to be put back in their places with no gaping holes on the shelves. Their library, it appeared, had become whole once again, its wounds tended to and healed.

“How did you…?” Belle asked, breathless.

“I asked for a favor, though she owed me nothing,” Adam explained. “The library required someone with more…exceptional talents.”

“Agathe,” Belle guessed, whirling around to face him. She grabbed his hand and laced her fingers between his, bringing the back of his hand up to her lips. “I know how uneasy she makes you. Thank you, Adam.”

“On the contrary, she seemed happy to be useful.”

“And the books?”

“All restored.” Adam kissed her fingers this time. “I told you not to worry.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to snuff out the candles, I do believe we have some unfinished business to attend to…”

Belle’s laughter filled up the room as she set to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally managed to update this one! Thanks for your patience and I hope you'll still read it. 
> 
> This also required a rating change, for this chapter and the next. 
> 
> Kudos & comments are most appreciated! :)


	6. Chapter 6

Belle listened to the rain drumming against the windows as she caught her breath. A distant roll of thunder followed, louder than the last, the storm creeping its way toward them. But she paid no mind to it whatsoever, safe from the cold, hard rain inside the library where the thunder had no chance of shaking the foundations, where the warmth from Adam’s body permeated her own and made her whole. Belle lay back across the soft, worn cushions of the chaise, her skin flushed a lovely shade of pink, her hair slightly damp at her temples, still breathless. Adam sprawled on his stomach, comfortably situated between her legs wearing a devilish smirk that she could barely see through a haze of pleasure.

Various articles of clothing now decorated the room—Adam’s breeches dangled from a rung of a ladder, Belle’s chemise draped over a brass globe—from their rush to be free of them. Thankfully, all of the candles remained unlit this time, thus preventing any further accidents. Belle giggled, remembering the rumble of Adam’s bestial growl deep in his chest, his skilled hands and mischievous mouth provoking noises from her that she was sure had woken at least half the castle.

She ran her fingers through Adam’s hair and swept an errant lock out of his eyes. He made her feel loved, _desired_ as though it had been their first time together. Even now, the way he looked up at her made Belle forget how miserable she’d been before they began. Belle pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, watching him trace patterns with his fingertips across her growing stomach. No matter how nauseous or unwanted or frustrated Belle had become in her condition, Adam had been there to stare at her in wondrous awe, charting the progression of their child’s growth with curious hands. The first time he’d felt their baby move against his palm, he’d wept.

Adam settled his hands on top of her and left a trail of kisses along her bare skin, making a careful path across the swell of her stomach. His touch was gentle, feather-light, but blazing hot. Over two years had passed since he’d been cursed in his beastly form, yet he continued to radiate heat like he’d never shed his fur. Belle didn’t mind, as it kept the chill away as they lay here together. She’d been notorious for getting cold easily.

There were only a couple of months left before they expected the arrival of their child and Belle knew her husband was impatient to meet their little one. Her eyes softened as she watched him, murmuring against her skin, whispering things only their baby might hear. He’d had nightmares; awful, recurring dreams that tormented him with his fears about becoming a father. But Adam was not _his_ father, not in the slightest. And Belle had soothed those fears knowing without a doubt that their child would be loved, that Adam’s past had been left far behind him and would not reach their son or daughter.

“Amélie,” Adam declared suddenly. He peered up at Belle, blue eyes seeking approval.

“What?”

“For a girl,” he clarified.

“Oh.” They’d been back and forth for weeks about names, testing each one, shuffling through choices for boys and girls. And they’d yet to find at least one they both liked. Adam had unearthed the book tracing his family’s lineage, but Belle had found the names to be quite unwieldy. “I knew a girl named Amélie when Papa and I lived near Versailles. She hated me.”

“Perhaps not.” Adam smirked.

“If the baby is a boy, we could name him after you.”

Adam made a face. “That seems appallingly self-indulgent.”

“It’s a common practice, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes,” Adam conceded. “But not one I’m willing to follow.”

“Something simple, then.” Belle sighed. “But strong.”

“I’m afraid _simple_ isn’t in the royal tradition,” he answered. “Either way, this little one will have an exhausting string of names to remember.”

“I barely remember yours.”

“Which is why _Adam_ suits me just as well.” He shifted, propping himself up with his hands on either side of her knees. “How shall we ever agree on middle names?”

“Something tells me we won’t.”

Adam thought for several long moments. “Maurice, if it’s a boy. We’ll name him after _your_ father.”

“Papa would be pleased.” Belle hummed and scanned the bookshelves around them. “What about William?”

“As in Shakespeare?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

“That’s a start,” Belle said. “And if it’s a girl…?”

“Well, there’s your mother…and mine…”

“I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before.” Belle’s eyes widened, after a pause to consider. “What about Rose?”

“ _Rose_ ,” Adam whispered, as if to try it out. His brow knit together, and at once Belle thought she’d made a mistake to even suggest it.

“Your mother was quite fond of roses. My mother, too,” she reasoned. “Neither of us would exactly be here without one. Would you hate it?”

Belle hated to drudge up old, painful memories, but she found the name beautiful. It was simple, a name one might find even amongst modest country folk like herself and her Papa, but it also held magic—a power that they both knew very well. Adam was too lost in his own thoughts for her liking; she reached for one of his hands, lacing their fingers together, brushing her thumb across his knuckles. Memories of Agathe’s curse still lingered on Adam’s skin, no matter how far back in his mind he’d pushed the terrible years of his existence.

Belle’s gaze swept across the jagged scars that ran along his arm and shoulder, shimmering pink in the dim light from the hearth. A memory of the snow-covered woods, the wolves with sharp claws and even sharper teeth. Agathe had kept every scar left behind from Gaston’s bullets, too—Belle had them memorized by touch, had once spent an hour exploring every imperfection with her fingertips, kissing them as if it would make Adam feel less haunted by their permanent home on his body. They were marks of survival, just like the rose was also a symbol of their love for one another, for all the trouble it had been worth. Belle could not think of a more perfect name if they were blessed with a little girl.

Adam’s eyes shone, brimming with tears that he wouldn’t let fall. “Rose,” he said again, this time stronger.

“We don’t have to—”

He lifted himself up onto his hands, gingerly crawling up on top of Belle to kiss her, cutting her reply short.

Belle laughed into Adam’s rather enthusiastic kiss. “Is that a yes?” she asked, once they finally let go of one another.

“It’s perfect,” he agreed. “Now for the other twenty or so names…”

“We still have time yet.” Belle groaned. “Months, in fact. Though I doubt it’ll be enough for the two of us to come to an agreement.”

“And then there’s the business of choosing godparents.”

Belle’s mouth fell open. “Oh, _no_ …”

Adam pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m afraid so.” He dropped a delicate kiss on Belle’s temple, then worked his way down along her neck. “But that’s for another day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was short, but I really wanted it to stand on its own. 
> 
> If you'd like to meet an older version of Rose, she appears in the fic "My Father Taught Me to Dance." You'll be meeting baby Rose next chapter, though! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. :)


	7. Chapter 7

The sound of Rose’s fussing roused Adam from an almost deep sleep. _Almost_ , because neither he nor Belle had been afforded anything close to a heavy, uninterrupted slumber anymore. Not for the past four months. Bleary-eyed, Adam forced himself to sit up in bed, stifling a yawn as he glanced about the room. He didn’t know what sort of time it was, if the hour was too late or early, until he saw the clock had sluggishly dragged its hands into some semblance of the five o’clock hour. It seemed his darling daughter was intent on early mornings, rising when the castle’s staff began their day.

 _Just like her mother_ , Adam thought, reminded of Belle’s fondness for sunrises, for walking through the village square before the clock deemed the hour acceptable for the rest of its inhabitants to start their morning. She’d risen early in the waning days of the curse, too, assigning chores to the castle’s enchanted staff so that its long-neglected rooms regained their former splendor.

These days, Belle’s early mornings were few and far between, not that Adam could blame her. Eschewing the “hands off” approach to royal parenting—a similar route that Adam’s own mother had taken in spite of his father’s abysmal child rearing—Belle and Adam had both insisted on taking care of their daughter themselves. Of course, they weren’t without help, as much of the staff was eager to spend time with Rose and the lines between servant and family had become muddled. So, for the past four months they had navigated the sleepless nights, the exhausted joy of parenthood _together_ , in a way that the village had not seen a young prince and princess commit to in a very long time.

Belle was sleeping soundly beside him, an opened book still tucked against her chest, her hair spilled across the pillows. Adam leaned over to drop a kiss onto her forehead, then finally climbed out of bed. He stretched until he heard the satisfying pop of stiff joints, while Rose’s irritation grew into tiny, frustrated cries. Adam padded over to her crib, grabbing a wool banyan slung over the footboard of their bed on the way.

Rose’s crib was a work of art procured by the servant staff as a gift, an ornate gilt wrought iron masterpiece with scroll designs and a sheer linen curtain that draped over the top. She had been nestled inside one of Belle’s baby blankets, though she’d worked her hands free and was now flailing them in her bout of mild annoyance. Adam stuffed the doll made from leftover scraps of fabric—a gift from Chip, who’d made it himself and beamed when he watched Rose stick the doll’s hand in her mouth, cooing in approval—into his pocket.

He stood over the crib, regarding his daughter with a playful smirk. “It is _very_ early, my darling,” he whispered. “And you are _very_ awake.”

She seemed to stop crying at the very least, though her displeased noises continued. She stared up at Adam with wide, impossibly blue eyes, her tiny fingers reaching. Whenever Rose gazed at him in such a way (sometimes offering a flash of her toothless mouth, in what Adam thought was a smile) he knew it was a look of recognition. She knew him, and yet knew nothing of what he had once been, or what his father had been, because she only cared enough to see his face. Nothing else in the world mattered. And suddenly all of the previous fears and doubts that had poisoned him about fatherhood disappeared, and Adam knew Rose would be nothing but safe and loved.

“I know…I know,” he soothed, scooping Rose into his arms. “How dare I ignore you for one moment longer?” Adam pressed a kiss into her hair—chestnut waves identical to Belle’s, so thick that Mrs. Potts and Plumette had gasped the minute she’d been born, taken aback by just how much hair she’d been blessed with as an infant.

“All right,” Adam whispered. “Let’s leave your mother to get some rest.”

 ***

By the time Adam made it into the corridor of the West Wing, Rose’s fussing had been quelled in the shelter of his arms, her eyes now curious to her vast surroundings. Mrs. Potts met them in the hallway, dressed for the day and alert enough that Adam guessed she’d been awake for an hour or so.

“The poor dear, I heard her fussing,” she explained. “I thought I’d give you and Belle another hour’s sleep at least, but it seems she’s got you up and about already.”

Adam suppressed another yawn. “Barely.”

Mrs. Potts held out an index finger and Rose latched onto it with one of her small fists, earning a bright grin from her godmother.

“I could take her for you, you know.” She scrunched up her nose, leaning over the tiny princess to make faces. “Just say the word…”

“Thank you.” Adam laughed. “I’ll stay with her until Belle wakes up.”

“Shall I bring a tray down to the library, then?”

“Coffee would be a blessing,” Adam requested. “Strong, preferably.”

Mrs. Potts pitched her voice higher, speaking to Rose. “Oh, your father doesn’t know what he’s asking for. No he doesn’t, does he?” She cooed, addressing Rose in some babbling infant nonsense that Rose found quite enthralling.

“Actually, I think I d—”

“Cogsworth once asked me to brew him ‘the strongest coffee I could manage,’” she told Rose. “He didn’t sleep for a week. _An entire week_! What do you think of that, my dear?” Rose started to nibble on Mrs. Potts’ finger, which she seemed unconcerned with, even as the little princess drooled all over her knuckles.

“Sounds perfect,” Adam said.

 ***

The fires on either end of the library had been lit to warm the rooms, weak morning light beginning to fill them. Adam took a few turns around the rooms to allow Rose’s eyes to wander, marveling at the thousands of books she would one day discover for her own. Her small noises—content now—echoed off the walls. Adam watched her face and wondered just what she thought of it all. He and Belle would read to her every chance they had. Children’s stories, fairytales; books Adam often heard his mother read to him in their sanctuary. He couldn’t wait for her to decide on her favorites, to find adventure within pages upon pages. And, perhaps, maybe one day, discover the magic that lay hidden in the Atlas.

But that day was far off, and Adam was content to see it remain that way for a long while yet.

“Good morning, _mon prince_ ,” Plumette greeted, breaking Adam from his thoughts. She bounced into the library, feather duster in hand. Her smile was infectious, her dark eyes alight.

She paused to sweep a lithe finger across Rose’s cheek. “And good morning to you, _ma petite fleur_. You are up early today, no? So eager to see all that is going on in the world.” Plumette giggled and tapped the end of Rose’s nose with a delicate fingertip.

“As fate would have it, this is the only room in the castle where she’ll fall asleep.”

“Fate, indeed,” Plumette said. “Perhaps she knows how special it is. Babies are funny that way, I suppose. After Louis was born, nothing would put him to sleep except for the sound of his father singing. Lumiére would make up the most ridiculous songs for him.” She laughed. “And now Lisette, she will fuss unless I cradle her just so.”

Plumette held out her arms and teetered back and forth. “Her favorite room in the entire castle is the ballroom, all lit up with candles. A curious thing, yes? Maybe a certain type of magic we do not understand.”

Adam nodded. “Curious.”

“I shall save these rooms for last.” Plumette’s smile returned. “You may not feel it so much now, Adam, but you and Belle are doing a wonderful job with her. I promise you.”

“Thank you, Plumette.” She floated out the door, her petticoats disappearing around the corner last, and her song a distant echo.

Rose yawned, provoking a laugh from Adam that resonated through the northern end of the library.

“Oh, so _now_ you’re finally growing tired?” He lowered himself onto the chaise and repositioned her so that she lay on her stomach across his chest with her face up near his shoulder. Adam held her carefully, one hand on her back, the other hovering behind her head.

Rose stared at him, tiny fingers grasping at the fabric of his banyan. Adam was still so in awe of her: the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks—Rose had Belle’s nose, no matter how much Belle tried to protest—and Adam’s eyes on this small, beautiful face. His mother’s eyes, bluer than a summer sky.

“I hope I am not interrupting?” Adam looked up to see Chapeau in the room, though he hadn’t heard any footsteps.

But that was his way, always silent, showing up whenever he knew he was needed. Adam now considered him a father figure, and Chapeau had, in fact, won the privilege of being Rose’s godfather in a spirited (and quite competitive) duel between himself and Lumiére.

“No, not at all.” Adam smiled.

Chapeau lifted up his violin. “When you were Rose’s age, I used to play for you.”

“That young? I remember being much older.”

“Oh yes,” Chapeau told him. “You would not sleep as a baby, either. Your mother would let me play for you, and I would…any time she needed.”

“How on earth did the two of you manage to keep quiet from my father?” Adam’s eyes widened a little.

“He was a heavy sleeper,” Chapeau answered, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “And it is a very large castle, _monsieur_.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Adam swept his fingers through Rose’s hair. “Perhaps a bit of music will lull her to sleep.”

“I’ve started to compose a new lullaby for her,” Chapeau admitted. “Would you like to hear it?”

Adam brightened. “Of course.”

Chapeau played softly, filling the room with sweet, elegant music. He’d composed a melody that was as delicate as a new spring day; a gentle, sweeping piece that Adam knew had been composed out of love. He recognized variations of the lullaby his mother had once sung to him buried deep in the notes, and something else, something that felt like magic and enduring hope. Adam sat there, enchanted and mesmerized, only vaguely aware of Rose’s head drooping against his shoulder.

 ***

Belle felt more rested than usual, which nowadays seemed to be a small blessing. She wandered the hallways, the book she’d fallen asleep with last night tucked under one arm. Belle had awoken to an empty bed and an empty room. The first time this had happened, she’d panicked, but now she knew exactly where her husband and daughter ventured to in the mornings if Rose woke Adam up early. She wanted to thank him for burdening himself with sleeplessness so that she might steal just an hour more, maybe two if she happened to be lucky.

She ran into Chapeau in the corridor outside of the library, walking in the opposite direction. He stopped to bid her good morning, and Belle noticed his violin at his side.

“Good morning, Chapeau,” she said. “I assume you’ve seen Adam and Rose?”

Chapeau nodded. “Sound asleep.”

And they were—both of them.

Belle left her book behind on a work table, following the sound of Adam’s snoring to the chaise at the northern end of their cavernous library. Mrs. Potts was just delivering a tray to a nearby table, piled high with warm croissants fresh from the kitchens, containers of butter and jam to accompany them. Belle smelled the aroma of strong coffee, and saw the steam rise from the breakfast tray. She came to stand beside Mrs. Potts, one hand on her hip, the other clapped over her mouth at the sight in front of them.

“They _are_ a picture, aren’t they?” Mrs. Potts whispered.

Adam was lost to his dreams, his mouth slightly agape, his head against the back of the chaise. Both his hands were settled across Rose’s back as she slept on his chest. One little fist curled around the fabric of Adam’s banyan like an anchor. When she tiptoed closer, Belle grinned at Rose having drooled all over Adam’s bare chest. There was no doubt in Belle’s mind that she’d been comforted by steady rhythm of Adam’s heartbeat, the ebb and flow of his breathing, just as good as any music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends the penultimate chapter! Hope you enjoyed it. :)
> 
> Lumiere and Chapeau dueling over the honor of becoming Rose's godfather is now canon. It's something that originated in a discussion over on Tumblr, so I couldn't help myself and made a little reference to it. 
> 
> Plumette and Lumiere's children, Louis and Lisette, are just the start of a lot of next generation headcanons that I have about the castle inhabitants, and certainly just the start of Plumette and Lumiere's family. I thought I'd make a tiny reference to them here as well. 
> 
> One more chapter left! Kudos and Comments are appreciated!


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